


The Ickyak in the Living Room

by HaHeePrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, M/M, Not Supposed to Feel Like This, Sexual Tension, Things Left Unspoken For Too Long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaHeePrime/pseuds/HaHeePrime
Summary: Post-'Transformation' Drabble: Why shouldn't Megs and Prime tweak each other's diodes till they frag each other senseless? They are bonded, after all. (Not the answer Megatron was hoping for.)Now with new chapter: Elita and Ratchet get involved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sweeping this whole issue under the rug for too long. I finally just had to deal with it head-on. Yes, there are times when it's tempting to just let Prime and Megs get it on, already. But they can't. And here's why.

**The Ickyak in the Living Room**

_-or-_

_**It's Time We Had That Little Talk** _

 

"Whew!" With a small sense of triumph, Optimus flopped down on the dilapidated bench, and laced his fingers behind his head. He'd managed to get through the entire day without slagging anyone (though there had been one or two close calls) and he was more than ready to throw his rank to the Smelter.

"You said it," Megatron grunted.

The gray mech had gotten here before him – Optimus suspected his bond-brother of shunting some of the last unpleasant tasks onto his underlings, in order to cut out early and run away to what both had come to think of as 'their' spot. But it had been the sort of day where cutting out early was the lesser evil. Sometimes, he thought, the mechs and femmes under their joint command could be so pig-headed! Not, he allowed, that he or Megatron knew anything about  _that_  particular trait...

"I can tell that it's been an extra-specially glitched-up day, when all I want to do at the end of it is come sit out here with you," said Prime. He threw an arm across the other mech's shoulder. "Better the enemy you know than... uh... I forget the rest of it," he ended with a shrug.

"You've actually forgotten something?" The Decepticon feigned shock. But he swung his arm across Prime's back, mirroring the Autobot's easy camaraderie. In comfortable silence, they watched the stars swing gently across the dark sky.

They were moving again, and it felt good to be going somewhere. Optimus listened to the deep, slow throb of the living engines of Cybertron, felt the low, steady thump of the huge turbines, and smiled.

"You've mangled your cranial suspension again, I see." Megatron sounded neither angered nor surprised.

Optimus huffed resignedly. "You know me..."

"Always thinking you need to  _literally_  carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Yup, that's you, Op's, in a kilobyte."

Optimus shrugged. After a while, he felt Megatron's restless fingers begin idly straightening the stress-jammed linkages in his neck. Smiling in contentment, he shut down his optics, leaned against his bond-brother's solid bulk, and let his head loll loosely in Megatron's hand.

If the big glitch wanted to unwind the day's frustrations by kneading the kinks out of Prime's knotted cording, Optimus was more than willing to leave him to it. The Decepticon's lack of reverence for him was sometimes refreshing. Of the other Autobots (besides Elita), only Jazz, Ultra Magnus, and of course Ratchet had ever been comfortable enough to sit him down get him to let them loosen his tension this way. Prime smiled a little at the thought of Elita. His processor slowed to a drowsy crawl.

When the familiar warmth began to spread through his systems, Prime's response to it was so habitual that he unthinkingly tilted his head to allow the probing fingers access to the deeper nodes on his neural cortex. He had almost given himself entirely over to the pleasure of their touch before he realized that something was wrong. He snapped to attention, straightening up with a jerk.

"You're not Elita."

"No, my last checkup was pretty clear on that subject," Megatron replied. "Although," he added with an amused lift of his crest, "We do kind of share the same head-mold. Primus must have been several cubes over the limit when he thought up that one..."

"No." Optimus hunched out from under the other's arm. He sat forward, elbow on knee, and began scratching his neck vigorously. "I mean you  _can't_  be Elita, Megatron."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the gray mech retorted in umbrage.

"It means-" Optimus huffed, trying to find the words. "It means that although we are bonded, there are some things we can never share." He lowered his voice. "I would have kept them from you, if I could, my friend."

Now the gray mech was angry. "Why? Because I'm not worthy? Because such knowledge of the Mysteries is too great for an oaf like me to bear?" He snarled, "Or is it because the Great Prime is too proud to let his bond-brother see him tremble?"

"No!" Prime considered for a moment. "And yes." He sighed. "It's just that these are things you ought to have been allowed to discover for yourself, with a lifemate; not gotten vicariously through the memories in another's spark. It has wakened a hunger in you that would have been better left sleeping."

"What the slag is your problem, you two-faced Autobot glitch? You never got unhinged over me straightening your linkages before now!"

"That's because up until now, 'straightening my linkages' was all you were doing. You went deeper this time, and you know it," Prime said sternly. "And I can not let you do that. Ever."

"Why? It's not like you have anything to hide..." he almost spat the word, " _Brother."_

Optimus forced himself to stay calm. "Think about it, Megatron. How would it change things if, as you put it, you did make me tremble?"

Megatron gave the Autobot his most evil grin.

"There," said Prime, pointing. "That's precisely what I mean." He sat back, and tried to explain. "Our precarious friendship is based on equality. We've always been very careful to maintain that balance of power, both in our administration, and in our personal interaction. But the moment we disrupt that balance – the instant we let any element of domination or submission into our relationship – that element will begin to undermine our bond."

Megatron crossed his arms and hunched away. He was angry, Prime could tell. And hurt. "Like slag, it would," the gray mech muttered. "You're just trying to come up with plausible reasons..."

"No! The reasons are right in front of us, Megatron." The red mech peered sternly into his bond-brother's red optics. "This isn't really about giving or taking pleasure. It's about control."

"Control-?" Megatron spluttered, enraged. "What in the Pit are you yammering about?"

Prime raised a hand. "Just hear me out, please. This is important. We both know you love to manipulate me, no matter what the method. It'd be a high for you – the high you've been missing. But what about reciprocation? Could you ever put yourself into my hands? Ever let me tweak your sensors in return?"

Megatron looked away. He didn't answer.

Optimus barreled on, misunderstanding the other mech's silence. "We'd never be able to look each other in the face again," said Prime firmly. "Trust me on this, Megatron. I've seen this kind of thing ruin friendships before. It can take two bots as enmeshed as two gears, and tear them apart." He sighed, and pressed his palm against his bond-brother's scarred gray chestplate. "I do not want that for us, my Brother."

"But you let Elita," Megatron accused quietly.

"Yes, I do. And she lets me. As you know, having sojourned more than once within my spark. She and I have been conjugal counterparts almost since our first assembly. But we didn't discover we had compatible wiring until-" he snorted. "Until that second time you tried to kill us, you old monster." Optimus put an arm around the gray mech's shoulders and drew him in, seeking to soften the harshness of his words. "It's just that... that kind of relationship takes more than the usual measure of trust, Megatron."

The big mech pulled away. He sat silently for a long moment, his hands clenched between his knees, his optics on the ground. At last, in little more than a whisper, he muttered, "I trust  _you_..."

Prime's vocalizer clicked. In a flash, he understood. This wasn't about him at all. With that simple admission, Megatron had turned his whole argument on its head. There could be no adequate response to that unspoken request. In the end, he pulled the gray mech into a rough hug, and held him close. "Don't think I haven't been tempted, you big lump," he said eventually.

It would be so easy, he thought as he stroked a thumb absently back and forth across the back of Megatron's bared head. Their schematics were so similar. And after a lifetime of trying to tear each other apart, Optimus knew every rivet, every diode in the other's heavy frame. On the face of it, his bond-brother wasn't asking anything unreasonable. Why shouldn't the big mech receive fulfillment, after giving up so much?

Optimus gave the other's thick neck a squeeze, and sighed. "I've given this a lot of thought," he said. With a snort, he added, "Too much thought, probably. I tried all kinds of ways of convincing myself that it could work. Because it's something I would love to be able to do for you, my Brother." He smiled into the other's red optics. "For all kinds of reasons – some worthy, and some less so..."

"And even if I shut down my audial receivers, you're going to find some way to make me listen to the list," grumbled Megatron.

"Darn right," said Prime. He ticked a point off on his fingers. "First of all, I can't do that to Elita. I've already asked far too much of her."

"I know – It must be awful having an unwanted bondmate dragging at your ankle all the time, never letting the two of you be alone..."

"That's not how we feel, and you know it," Prime retorted.

"What's wrong with letting her join in? It's not as if I have anything to hide from her any more," the Decepticon snarled.

Optimus just looked at him.

"Forget I asked," the gray mech grumbled.

"Elita is not actually my main reason for telling you no," said Prime quietly. He sighed heavily, and drew back. "I am." Optimus gave a dry, self-deprecating laugh. "We're too much the same, Megatron. I'm no better than I've accused you of being. There's still a part of me that would love to wield such power over you, to feel you melt into my hands..." He grimaced. "To hear you beg..."

Optimus summoned all his energy of spark, and did his best to open the bond between them, so that he could communicate his feelings in more than words. "Look at me, Megatron," he said. "I understand, better than you think I do. I wish to Primus that I could." He sighed. "But I dare not. I value your friendship too highly, my old nemesis."

Megatron snorted, and shook his head. "Of course you can't. Far too holy, and all that." But despite his attempt at being hard-shelled, he found that he could not let go of Prime. "It looks to me like I should have let Starscream hook me into his rust-licking machines vorns ago," he muttered bitterly. "I abstained! I am pure! And my reward for that is... a small fanfare, please...  _More abstinence!_ Hooray for Megatron! I am mighty! Behold my glory, and tremble!" He waved an admonitory finger. "But not that kind of trembling, please. It seems we're only interested in fear around here."

Optimus smirked. But he was no fool. He knew the Decepticon was seeking to cover a deep and ancient pain with his flippant words.

"If I may make so bold-" the Autobot began.

"Oh, by all means." Megatron waved a hand. "Enlighten my darkness, great Prime."

"I suggest you look among the new femmes," Optimus said gently. "Find someone who's not just a carbon-copy of yourself, someone free from all the bugs and glitches of constant warfare. Find a bot who honors you, but is willing to stand up to you when she disagrees." He smiled, imagining the possibilities. "Find yourself a challenge, Megatron. Then..." he shrugged. "See where it leads. Give yourself  _time,_  my friend."

"Time." the gray mech chuffed. "You do remember who it is you're talking to? I have many strengths; but patience has never been one of them, Optimus."

"It's going to take time," replied the red mech simply. "Elita and I have only been experimenting with this kind of thing for a few hundred vorns. But we met so long ago that I can hardly remember the circumstances." He smiled, his vacant optics focused only on the distant past. "But I do remember the way it felt," he reflected. "There was a kind of arcing energy that danced between us, a kind of link that bound us together long before our sparks were joined..."

"And you've lived happily ever after," snarled Megatron.

Optimus didn't bother to disagree. They both knew it had been anything but easy, due largely to Megatron's constant harassment.

"Your processor must be more fragged than I thought, if you think I'll find a lifemate among the newling femmes," Megatron went on doggedly, determined to have his say."They're practically unwritten! What in Cybertron makes you think that one of them could possibly understand me?"

"Maybe that's the point," Optimus mused. "I think you might need someone new. Someone who'll see you not as the Mighty Megatron, the great Tyrant, Warmonger, and Destroyer of Worlds; but only as the tall gray mech with the abrasive voice and the amusingly inflated ego..."

Megatron shoved the red Autobot away with a gruff curse, surged to his feet, and began pacing angrily.

But Prime was just getting started. "...And the propensity to use certain favorite words entirely too often..."

"-And an annoying bond-brother who thinks he knows everything and won't ever fragging  _shut up_ ," the Decepticon interrupted with a snarl.

"That's me," Optimus replied with a grin. He stood, and put out a hand to still his bond-brother's frantic pacing.

"Someday, Megatron – and soon, I hope – there will be someone who can give you everything I cannot." He touched his helm to the gray mech's dark brow. "I almost envy that bot," he mused. "For I have been lucky enough to have had a share in your love. Until then..." Once more, he placed his palm against the other's chest. "I'll love you as I always have."

"Oh!" said a high, unfamiliar voice. "I'm sorry – I didn't see you there." A thin, nervous figure hunched back into the shadows. "I didn't mean to interrupt your, um-" the light silver-gray femme was fumbling, her hands fidgeting as she backed away. "I didn't know you two were-" She looked from one mech to the other. "I'll just... go now, shall I?" And with that, she turned and fled.

"Wait!" Megatron called after her. "We're not-!"

As his bond-brother tore off after the disappearing femme, Optimus broke into full-throated laughter. The whole situation was almost too pat to believe.

"That's right," he murmured, still smiling. "We're not."

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this on the old computer - a forgotten relic of one of my many suppressed outbursts of, "But dang it all, sometimes I just wanna blinkin' frolic with Megatron!" Ratchet was glee; Megs was adorable; Prime was more honest than I usually let him be; and Elita can do a pitch-perfect Beachcomber impression. It was too good to throw away. So I thought I would go ahead and finish it. Here you go.

**Strange Algebra: Prime / Elita + Megatron = ?**

* * *

They lay together, Optimus and Elita - he on his back, she cradled in his arm with her head resting on his shoulder. Whenever possible, the two recharged on the same slab; not because it made the charge-up itself any more pleasant (since they were insensible during the offline period), but because it was so comforting to come online in one another's arms. They were a unit, a single organism, a bonded pair almost from inception. Their love was something as integral to each one of them as their own transformation.

Elita booted up first; and she smiled. These were her favorite moments, alone with her Orion. She reached over to touch his chest, and grinned wider. The metal was hot.

"I see you were dreaming about me," she remarked, when he awoke a moment later with a groan.

She expected a teasing rejoinder, or at least a sated confirmation. But Optimus turned his head away.

Elita's grin faded. Slowly, her hand retreated from his chest. "Who was it?" she asked.

He turned to her a gaze brimming with shame.

"Oh," she said, subdued.

"I tried not to!" he whispered.

"You can't help what your processor does while you're offline," she said sharply. "Which makes it worse," she added in an undertone he wasn't meant to hear.

They lay there, separate now, though he still held her as before.

"Does he want it?" Elita asked at last. Her voice was leaden.

"I don't know..." Prime looked at her miserably. "He asked me once – as close as Megatron will ever come to asking for anything that makes him look weak." Prime fidgeted. "I laid out all my principles against it. Told him it could ruin our friendship. Told him it would be a betrayal of your trust, too much to ask of my bondmate. But I..." He sighed, and turned away. "I'm not sure if I really believe all that, or if I was only making up excuses." He slammed a fist down on the berth. _"I shouldn't want this!_ " he shouted. "What is  _wrong_  with me?"

"At least you're being honest about it. Finally," she said.

He turned to face her. "Do you... Do you ever wonder...?"

"...What it would be like to interface with Megatron?"

He grimaced.

"Hoping that you're not the only one?" Elita's tone was biting, though she'd tried to hold it in.

Optimus put a hand over his face. "I am a large red piece of slag," he said from underneath it.

Elita thought about the first time she'd touched Megatron: how electric it had been, how strange. His energy was hot and violent, a challenge and a threat... but never a threat to her. He'd always made her feel that she was precious to him, and even in some way his redemption. Sometimes she sought out his companionship, mostly to share concerns about Orion. But the Decepticon had always been a foreign country to her, and sometimes – even now – hostile. So anything more intimate than that... She turned to face her bondmate. "Do you remember that one time I woke to find you in my berth, and panicked because I thought you were Megatron?"

He nodded.

"'Nuff said. It would be horrifying. Demeaning and dishonest for us both."

"Why don't I have that same horror?" he asked, a little plaintively. "Why do I find myself wishing-?" He broke off with a rough gesture.

Elita snorted. "Because you're not me?"

Optimus tried to organize his thoughts. He knew that he could simply open his spark to Elita, take her in, and they'd both understand everything. A few million years ago, when they were both newlings, it's what he would have done. But the more linked they had become, the more they'd tried to maintain their individuality. Their union was great strength. But to be so much united that they ceased to be unique would be to lessen not just their own selves, but Cybertron as well. There had never been many transformers. Each one was a cog in the machine that, if lost or altered, hindered its running and lessened its intrinsic beauty.

Now the two sparkmates rarely left their bodies for a full bond. Instead, they took more indirect approaches, wanting a union based on more than just shared knowledge. They expressed affection through word, touch, and time together. They'd learned each other's sweet spots – where to access the neural net that ran throughout their bodies. And on the rare occasion when they had time for real indulgence, they would open up their armor, and hold one another close until their spark-cores almost touched. The trust, the tantalizing proximity, the overflow of love was enough to leave them weak for hours afterward. But there was danger in allowing more spark contact than merest touch: a full download of another's spark while in-frame would fry even the most upgraded processor – leaving a smoking ruin of a bot for Ratchet to chastise and try to rebuild.

"Orion..." Elita tapped his chestplate. "My deep-thinking wordsmith, always looking for the very best way to say things..." She was still hurting, but she couldn't help but smile at him. She knew his love for her was bedrock-deep; more sure than even this could ever change or undermine.

"There's just no  _data_ ," Optimus said, frustrated. "I mean, spark-bonds are rare enough. A double-bond..." He sighed. "The only other one I know about is Chromia, and it's not exactly something I can talk to her about."

Elita put her hand over her mouth to stifle an outburst of inappropriate laughter. "Can you imagine it?" she whispered. She put a finger to her audial, and mimicked his deep voice. "Optimus Prime to Chromia – _kchhhk_ – Hey Chromie, you know Monsoon - your bond-sister who died? Did you ever lust after her? Did Ironhide?" Her back to Prime, Elita curled her knees into her chest and dissolved into a fit of helpless giggling. It wasn't that the subject was funny – far from it – it was simply a release of tension. And the pink femme had always hidden a wicked sense of humor.

"You," groused Prime, rolling on top of her, "Are an evil, heartless femme, and I'm glad you're not on the enemy's side."

"How do you know I'm not?" She shoved him off, back to his portion of the berth. "But seriously, beloved..." Elita grimaced and thump the back of her head against the berth. "I want data, too, Orion Pax. Now. What exactly do you want from Megatron?"

Optimus huffed, mouth tight. "Primus," he swore, a long exhale of frustration and shame. He turned away. "All right. I'll tell you. There's some sick part of me that wants the big lug to push past all of my righteous resistance, and then, I don't know, slagging, 'have his way with me,' or something. Oh, Primus," he added again in an undertone.

"Thus absolving you of all responsibility for the indiscretion?" she asked.

"Scrap, I don't know. I just want to enjoy _losing_ , for once. To have it be a release, instead of the end of the world. Of course," he added dryly, "I'd want him to be able to read my mind as well, so he'd never push me to do anything I didn't actually  _want_  to do... How did we end up having this conversation?"

Elita gave a short laugh, and jabbed him with her elbow. "Because the pure and worthy Prime is secretly a letch." She thought for a moment, then asked, "What would you do if he came to you and begged you for release?"

"What, Megatron saying, 'I need you, Ops! Make me your love-slave or I'll die'? That would be..." Prime's optics dimmed, "...uncomfortable," he finished honestly.

"Could you ever say that to him?"

"'Help me, Megs; I'm gagging for it'?"

She laughed. "Something like that."

"But I don't even know exactly what it is I'm gagging for!" He turned to snuggle against Elita's warm, familiar frame that curved so perfectly into his. "This is crazy; you are a saint, and I am the scum between a Skuxxoid's toes."

"So true," agreed Elita lightly. She sighed. "But I'm tired of you hiding from all this. It's..." (she mimicked Beachcomber's laid-back delivery) "It's messin' up my groove, man. You just gotta, you know, be one with the  _moment._  Give a little  _brotherly love._ "

Optimus laughed; he couldn't help it. He and Elita knew their soldiers well, and could imitate most of them down to the last bolt. So this was one of their secret games. Elita, whose vocal range was wider, especially excelled.

Optimus raised himself onto one elbow, and put on a willing, but slightly perplexed expression. In a clipped, rapid-fire cadence that was very like Perceptor's, he declared, "I suppose it's not too far out of the realms of probability for two mechs such as yourselves to want to repeat the bonding experience. But as for these..." (he gave an awkward shrug) "more unformatted cravings... I can only suggest - respectfully - that they are products of a compromised processor. I suggest you report to Ratchet for a complete defrag immediately."

Elita chuckled, but Prime's optics dimmed. "So fragged," he said.

"Maybe you  _should_  talk to Ratchet," suggested Elita.

"Slag, no!"

She pressed him. "I bet he's got some good ideas. Did you know he studied Circuit-Sutra at the Academy?"

Optimus gaped. "No! Surely he had, I don't know, more vital subjects to study?"

"He said it was so that he'd be able to recognize some of the more...  _internal_  injuries, and put bots back together when they tried some of that stuff."

"Wow." Prime's blue optics glazed as his mind went very far astray. "Heh. Ratchet, eh? I'll have to ask him for a few ideas to surprise you with sometime."

Elita shrugged. "I've always wanted to try the Thermal Flush with Clamps and Neural Strippers."

Prime gasped. "What _is_  that? It sounds  _horrible!_ "

Elita patted his arm. "That's because I made it up, dear."

Prime flopped back onto the berth. "Made up," he grumbled. "Come'ere, you." He pulled an unresisting Elita up onto his chest. "I'll show you a few things I 'made up'! Evil she-demon," he complained.

"But remember, you  _like_  evil," she teased back. "At least when it comes in tall, gray, and caustic." She leaned down to whisper into his audial, "And I  _know_  that you like  _this._.." Elita pressed a certain hidden node, and Prime's vision went white.

* * *

"So." Megatron looked at Prime over the top of the datapad which Shockwave had just handed him. "Elita tells me you want me to take you hard."

Optimus glanced quickly around the large, open Command Center in panic. At desks around the tower's wide circumference, Autobots and Decepticons went about their jobs, making sure Cybertron ran smoothly. There were thirty-two bots present. But so far, no one seemed to have heard Megatron's comment. At least, no one was letting on...

Megatron gave Prime a huge, lecherous wink.

Like a thundercloud trying desperately to seem like an innocuous cotton ball, the Autobot Commander rose up from his station. "You!" he hissed, grabbing the gray mech by the scruff of the neck. "Come with me  _now._ "

"Ooh!" Megatron gasped in mock fright. "So soon? I never knew you could be so  _forceful!"_

Optimus clamped his jaws tight. He half-dragged the gray mech into a nearby storeroom, and slammed the door shut behind him. "Sit," he ordered, throwing Megatron down onto a square metal container labeled  _Medical Supplies_.

"As you wish, my Lord," said Megatron facetiously.

"What did she tell you?" asked Prime, pacing back and forth in the tiny closet. "What,  _exactly?_ "

"Feeling betrayed?" Megatron asked, smirking.

"Yes!" Prime bit back the shout.

"No fun, is it?" commented Megatron, local authority on traitorous lieutenants.

"You slagging glitch. Don't change the subject. What did Elita tell you?"  _And why did she go behind my back_? he thought, but didn't say.

Softly, the gray Decepticon began to laugh. "You know," he said, "This just gets more and more amusing. All Elita  _suggested_  was that you and I should reexamine the parameters of our bond." He gave Optimus his most feral grin. "Your own reaction gave the rest away." He crossed an ankle over one knee, and folded his hands behind his head. "So," he said expansively. "You _do_  want me to take you hard."

"I never said-" Prime stopped. He was determined not to be drawn into one of Megatron's mind-games. "Cut the slag, Megs; we're on duty. We don't have time to fool around!" (He avoided his bond-brother's sneer at that ill-chosen phrase.)

With a sharp exhalation of defeat, Optimus Prime yanked out a second metal box out from the shelves lining the wall, and sat down heavily upon it. "All right," he said. "Sometimes I do want – something. Else. More than we've got."

"What about all your high and mighty principles against some undefined trespass?" asked Megatron, crooking air quotes with his fingers.

Prime waved an impatient hand. "I know what I said! I know I've got problems! I'm _aware_ , all right! What about you? What do you want, while we're here hiding in the closet?"

"Want?" Megatron gave a harsh laugh, then looked Optimus directly in the face. "I _need_  you, Prime."

Prime blinked. "Why the slag didn't you say so before?"

"I  _did_  say so before."

"I mean later, after we had that first 'discussion'..." (This time it was Prime's turn with the air-quotes.) "You seemed just fine after that. I thought I was the only one who kept on wondering-"

Megatron rolled his optics upward in exasperation. "Prime, unlike you, I've had eons of practice at hiding my, shall we say, less warmonger-like desires."

Prime took in what his bond-brother had said, and readjusted his thinking. " _What_  do you need from me?" he asked, more quietly.

Megatron shrugged, uncomfortable in his turn. "I don't know. But you used to spend a lot of time with me, make me feel like I had a real place in your life, your spark. You used to come to me for help. But lately..."

A far-off klaxon sounded, signaling the return of an away team of explorers. Prime and Megatron had promised to debrief them personally.

"You're right," admitted Optimus, speaking hurriedly now. "Lately I've spent most my free time with Elita. I wanted to restore our bond, and then..." He shrugged. "I guess I just fell back into longstanding habits."

"Like the selfish glitch you are."

"Probably." Optimus was adept at ignoring the caustic surface of Megatron's comments. "I didn't even realize you weren't happy."

Megatron made a face. "I was worried that you'd forgotten me. That you'd gotten what you wanted, and were done with me."

Optimus mirrored his Brother's expression. "I've had nightmares in which you held a gun to my head and told me that you hated being bonded to me, that I'd stolen your soul, that you despised me as a feeble, worthless thing..."

"Heh."

"Yeah."

They looked at one another.

Megatron scrubbed a thumb-knuckle against his chest. "It aches," he admitted abruptly.

Prime's optics softened. "Same here."

They looked at each other again.

"Your shift ends in three joors?" inquired Optimus.

Megatron grimaced. "Yes. But so what? You're still on for the next three whole  _orns_. We never schedule both faction leaders off-duty at the same time. Which was your idea, I remind you."

"I'll get Prowl and Jazz to cover part of my shift," said Prime. "That should be more than enough authority for anyone."

Megatron smirked. The last time Prime had handed the reins over to those two, Jazz had thrown a state-wide party, and Prowl had used the opportunity of lowered inhibitions to get some solid information on the darker corners of the black market. "Your subordinates are evil," Megatron remarked dryly.

Optimus grinned. "Competent, though. That was a  _great_  party."

Megatron wasn't sidetracked. "If we're not careful, it's not just your relationship with Elita that'll get slagged-up," he warned, returning to the point. "We could really mess up this 'Brothers' vibe we've got going on lately. I'm not sure I want that."

"I know..." Prime huffed. "I don't want to lose what we have got. Or Elita's security with me. Or, slag, my self-respect. Or yours."

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose, then caught himself mimicking Prime. He snorted. "We are soooooo fragged."

The klaxon sounded again, and there was a clatter of footfalls outside in the hallway as the Seeker team came to report in.

"Scrap. Well, we'll have to do our best to walk the line. Till then..." The two mechs rose. By unspoken consent, they moved in for a tight hug for a few precious nanoseconds. Then they broke apart, and headed for the door.

"Three joors," said Megatron. "I'll hold you to it."

"You'll hold me, eh?" Prime teased.

"You have no idea," smirked Megatron.

"Oh, I've got a few," retorted Optimus, the blue fires of challenge flaring in his optics.

The two mechs grinned toothily at one another. Then, game faced, they re-entered the Command Center.

* * *

_Ratchet..._  Prime paused, then bit the bullet.  _I've got less than three joors to come up with something that will satisfy the needs of two spark-bonded mechs, without undermining the previous bond of one of them._

_Ha!_  Ratchet's grin was audible, even over the comm-line. _Ironhide_ , he called, not bothering to switch to a second channel,  _You owe me 50 Shanix!_

Prime dropped the datapad he was pretending to work on. He hunched in behind the upper shelving of his desk, and put a finger to his audial to dial up the reception. _You two had bets on?_  he radioed in a whisper.

_Not just us,_  cut in Ironhide, his best friend.  _I'd say most o' higher Command's got somethin' in the pot. We' ain't all blind, Optimus._

"Scrap." Prime swore out loud, and Bluestreak, who'd been walking by, paused in concern.

"Something wrong, Chief?" the friendly gray-and-red Autobot asked.

Prime shook his head. "Nothing to worry about, Bluestreak," he assured the shorter mech.

Ratchet's peremptory voice came down the private comm-line: _I want all three of you in my office. Your appointment is three joors from now._  Prime flinched.

"Are you sure you're all right, Sir? Should I-"

Prime silenced the well-meaning gunner with a peremptory gesture. _But I just-!_  he fumbled into the comm, suddenly embarrassed.

_...Just made an appointment with a certain gray Decepticon_? (Prime scrubbed a hand across his face, imagining the Medic's expression)  _Optimus, get someone to cover Elita's shift too. Learn to delegate! Ratchet out._

Prime sighed. When Ratchet called him by name, there was no way to back out. He turned to Bluestreak. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said. "I do need your help. Can you cover Elita's next shift?"

* * *

Like newlings caught in disobedience, they shuffled in to face Ratchet's all-seeing gaze. Prime held Elita's hand tightly. Then, remembering some of what the big Decepticon had said, he hooked his fingers into Megatron's armor as well.

"Excellent," Ratchet approved, leaning in state against a state-of-the-art medical berth. "Please, have a seat." The Medic flashed a terrifying smile. "At least when you're afraid, you act like a real family."

They each fell into the places prepped for them. The Medbay had never been long on chairs, so Megatron slumped onto an upended metal bucket; Prime made a precarious landing on a rolling stool that was missing one wheel; and Elita sank into a neatly-folded stack of clean dust-cloths.

"Now, young ones." Ratchet gave them a proprietary smile. "Let's see if my deductions are correct."

Ratchet's laser-scalpel gaze focused on the Autobot Commander. "Prime. You're obviously confused about the nature of your relationship with Megatron. The only thing you know is a romantic partnership, but you worry that pursuing such a thing with Megatron will wreck the friendship that you have with him right now, and hurt Elita as well. Yet you still find yourself, as you'd probably put it, lusting after your bond-brother. Have I left anything out?"

Prime grimaced. "No."

Ratchet took up a stylus, and scrawled something on a datapad.  _"35 Shanix... from... Sideswipe_ " he muttered to himself.

Prime looked up quickly, about to protest. But Ratchet silenced him with a single raised finger.

"Elita-One." The Medic turned to his next 'patient.' "You know that something's wrong between these two, but you're not quite unbiased enough to help them. After all, though you seldom admit it, you still resent the way Megatron has shouldered his way into the bond you share with your mate. You like having Orion's attention, and miss Optimus when he's with Megatron. And you're still not comfortable with the big gray lugnut-"

Elita shook her head. "You know, that's mostly right, I admit it. But the thing about not being comfortable with Megatron..." she paused, considered, then went on with more assurance. "I think that's just a holdover from the first few quartex. I've felt safe with Megatron for... quite a while now. It was just habit for us all to believe I didn't."

Optimus broke in, "But you said-"

Elita shushed him. "What I  _meant_  was, I'm not ready to, you know, bare my spark to him, or anything like that. But I'm certainly not afraid of him." She glanced at Megatron. "Much," she amended.

"Huh." Ratchet glanced down at his datapad. "You sure about all that?"

Elita leaned forward to look past Prime at Megatron, and gave the big Decepticon a crooked smile. "Yes," she said. "Sure."

"Good," Ratchet said. He grumbled under his breath,  _"Even though you've cost me 11 Shanix."_  He crossed off something, almost hard enough to break the stylus. "I'm glad you have come to trust your adopted brother so quickly."

"It wasn't  _that_  quick," the gray mech protested.

"Megatron." Ratchet turned to the big Decepticon, ignoring his complaint. "I've left you till last, and that seems to be happening a lot lately. You feel forgotten, cast out to fend for yourself. Whining's for losers and for Starscream, so you tell yourself you should be able to handle it. But you're lonely. Am I right?"

"Get smelted," was Megatron's answer.

The Doctor smiled grimly, and tapped something on the dataslate.  _Smokescreen: 34 Shanix._  He waited as Prime put an arm around Megatron's shoulders, and drew him in protectively. The Autobot mouthed something below hearing, and the fidgeting gray mech grimaced back at his bond-brother.

Ratchet tossed the flat datascreen onto the platform beside him, crossed his arms, and immobilized his patients with a stare. "Now that we've gotten all that out in the open," he said, "There are a few things you should know." He held up an index finger. "Number one, most important item: No two bonds are alike."

"Well, yeah," said Megatron in his most put-upon, Starscream-you-idiot voice.

"Of course," agreed Optimus Prime.

"It's not 'of course.' I don't think any of you get it." Ratchet looked at Elita and Optimus Prime. He'd known them for so long, seen them through so many other rough spots. But although his spark was kind, his stern expression never altered. "Did you think Chromia and Ironhide's bond was exactly like yours?" he asked.

Elita spoke up hesitantly, "I assumed..."

"Actually, old 'Hide and Chromie are a lot more like Megs and our favorite Prime here, than like the two of you lovebirds," Ratchet said. "They mostly like to argue. Argue, and then make up. Don't tell 'em I said that."

The three pupils nodded obediently.

"Then there's Rumble and Frenzy," continued the Medic. "What?" he asked, as Megatron's head came up. "You thought I didn't know?" He began pacing back and forth, enjoying this. "Those two are spark-bonded, but it's more like just a state of being. They don't analyze or have to reaffirm it; it is simply who they are: Brothers from inception. They take one another's presence for granted, and only freak out when one or the other is in danger. Same with our two resident rapscallions, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker."

Ratchet stopped pacing, and grew somber. "Red Alert and Inferno we all know about now, sadly." He held up a hand to forestall Prime's question. "Red's slowly recovering. That's all we can ask of him. Inferno was the mech he trusted to understand all his quirks and mediate whenever he got too... intense." Ratchet's frown deepened. "Let's hope I do not have to help another bereft sparkmate to go on alone for many vorns to come." He glared at Prime, but wasn't seeing him; the red mech was just in his eyeline.

The Medic shook himself. "Enough of that. You get the concept: no two bonds the same. My point is-" he waved a threatening finger in Prime's face. "Quit worrying about what you believe this bond shouldn't be, and start trying to find out what it is. Do you ever worry if your behavior with Elita is appropriate?"

"Only if she says so..." Prime shot a sheepish grin aside to his bondmate. "Otherwise, it never occurs to me to analyze it much."

"Exactly" Ratchet cut in. "Now." He pulled up a wobbly stem-stool, and sat down with a grunt of emphasis. He pointed the Finger of Doom back and forth between the two mechs, even though both of them were much taller than he was, and even Elita had an inch or two on him. "What comes naturally to you two glitches?"

The Commanders warily met one another's gaze. Fighting was a given, so it remained unspoken. "Contact?" suggested Megatron uncertainly.

"Full contact," Optimus said firmly. Elita stifled a snicker, and hid her face in her hand. But Prime was thinking of the times they'd sneaked away to beat the ever-living slag out of each other, just to let off some steam.

"Shoving each other when we pass," Megatron growled, warming to his subject now. "Dinging each other's paint. You know - all the things that fuel your rage, oh mighty Doctor," he said, sneering.

Ratchet refused to be drawn in. "Anything else?" he demanded.

Prime looked away, embarrassed.

"Spit it out, Optimus," Ratchet ordered.

"Curling up together during recharge," he said faintly.

"Then why isn't Megatron admitted to your quarters more often?" asked Ratchet, completely unfazed. "Elita?"

Elita's countenance fell. "Orion's berth is... _my_  place," she whispered.

"Sweetheart..." Prime drew her close. (Megatron looked like a baby turbofox left out in acid rain.)

"What if he came to your berth, instead?" Ratchet suggested gently. Like all mechs in this post-war age, he had a soft spot for the few femmes who had made it through the bad old times.

"Maybe..." Elita was uncertain. After all, her room was her sanctum, and usually kept as a mech-free zone of quiet. "Sometimes. Not always. But it is an option." She gave Prime a private, slightly sad smile. "I suppose a girl likes to be chased once in a while..."

Optimus nuzzled Elita, and said something to her that made her stifle a giggle and slap him. But then he raised his head, grown newly purposeful. "I won't need to go to Elita's room. Not unless she asks me to." Prime spoke in that voice which drew in all hearers. "And Elita doesn't need to lose her spot on my slab, either. We have a lot of rooms in this new city. Why not have one set apart for me and Megatron? It's not like our bond is a secret..." He winced.

"It would need to be a  _large_  room," Megatron insisted. "Not like your cramped quarters, Ops. I need room to wrestle your aft into submission." He broke off abruptly as three sets of optics turned to blink at him. "Not like that!" he protested "Just - you know-"

Ratchet defused the moment with unwonted mercy. "We get it, Megatron. You and your Brother like to test each other's strength. It gives you some strange sense of security." He sighed. "I'll get Grapple and Hoist to install some double-layered walls into one of the - yes Megatron - larger chambers. But any injuries that require more than small-dent bodywork and repainting will result in lengthy stints of community service for the both of you. Do I make myself clear?" He glared back and forth at the two big mechs.

"Yes, Ratchet," they replied in humble unison.

"Good. Now." He pierced the Command-mechs with an uncompromising stare. "What are you two going to do in the meantime, while we get your personal Pit built? Because we all know you've reached the breaking point."

No one was willing to meet the white Medic's gaze.

He waved a hand. "You know what? I don't care. Just don't kill each other. Now get out. I've got important work to do."

Released, the trio moved toward the Medbay door, their measured steps attempting to belie their all-consuming desire for escape. Ratchet stared after them, a rare smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"Prime? If I find out you're still hiding from all this tomorrow, I will splice the two of you together myself, in the middle of the Medbay," he called after them. "And I will sell tickets!"

* * *

They convened in Prime's quarters, not because of any spoken decision, but more from its unacknowledged magnetism. Besides, he was the only one who had a couch big enough for the three of them.

"Whew!" Megatron declared, collapsing onto it, as Optimus slid shut the door behind them and locked it. "That Doctor of yours scares me more than Unicron Himself!"

"I wish it was Ratchet I was most afraid of," Elita said darkly.

Optimus guessed her thoughts. "Come here, sweetheart," he said gently. He sat beside Megatron on the couch, and drew Elita onto his lap. "Here," he said. "Just so you know." He unspooled a universal transfer line from his wrist, and plugged it into her adjacent port. Quickly, he streamed all that had passed between himself and Megatron that day. "We don't mean to betray you," he said firmly.

"Neither of us wants that," Megatron agreed. He was surprised (and honored) when Elita stretched her feet out across his knees, instead of keeping herself balled up on Prime's lap. He looked at the two Autobots, both of whom he loved more than he ever would admit, and put an arm around Optimus's shoulders. (Prime's arms were both around Elita; but he'd made sure to sit next to his Brother so that his whole right side was flush with the Decepticon's left, and Megatron appreciated it.) When a quick exchange of glances asked for and granted her permission, Megatron laid a cautious hand on the femme's ankle. For a long while, no one spoke.

"I never thought you two would be able to live long without some form of communion," Elita said finally, breaking the ice. "Why do you think I was so mad at first?"

"But not-" said Prime.

"Are you kidding? Of course you'll have to find your own methods. Try the Thermal Flush with Clamps and Neural Strippers," she suggested with an evil grin.

"The  _what_?" gasped Megatron in horror.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," Elita said innocently.

Optimus just shook his head, and muted his vocalizer before a chuckle slipped out.

Elita straightened her spine and leaned in to hug both big mechs around the neck. "Be good," she told them. And she rose to go.

But the two mechs rose with her. They held her between them, their low voices tangling up in one another as they sought to reassure her.

"Enough!" she told them with a gentle push to break free. (Nevertheless, she'd sucked in their affection like a cube of highgrade energon after a month of starvation.) "I know you love me. Now-" she flapped her hands, "Get whatever-it-is out of your system. Like Ratchet, I've got things to do." Head high, and never looking back, she strode out of Prime's quarters.

* * *

Optimus looked at Megatron. "First off," he said, "I guess it's time for a dose of some good old-fashioned truth." He unspooled a communi-cable from his wrist and offered it to the Decepticon.

Megatron plugged it in. His optics widened. "Really?" he asked, as his face fought to express triumph, surprise, and embarrassment at the same time.

Optimus put a hand up to cover his own too-naked visage. "My processor can come up with some kinky slag, sometimes."

Megatron chuffed. He looked away. Then with a sigh, he switched the direction of data through the cord between them. Now it played the Decepticon's night-fantasies into Optimus Prime's processor. Optimus coughed, and fell back a step. He was trying desperately not to laugh - Megatron's wishes were both charmingly clueless and deeply disturbing. He had no idea how a spark bond could function in a pairing without any hint of subjugation.

Prime sighed. He had kept this too long, and it had definitely festered. "Come here, Megs," he said. "Come get some love."

"It's what you do?" the gray mech snarked bitterly.

Prime's reply was warm and comforting. "It's what we both do, silly."

Optimus slipped the locks on his chestplates, opening them just enough to access his thoracic relay. "Try this, my old nemesis," he suggested.

Megatron hung back. "This isn't that Neural Flush thing, is it?" he asked nervously.

Optimus laughed. "Elita just made that up."

Megatron sniffed, and grumbled something beneath hearing. But he shuffled closer, and opened his own corresponding relay. Being the most direct access to the spark, it was normally used for downloading vital stats in a medical emergency, for energon supplement lines, and for dark energon purge. He still wasn't certain what Prime had in mind... but he allowed the Autobot to pull him into a chestplate-to-chestplate hug.

Connectors coupled; uplinks met downlinks; and hair-thin fiber-optic lines began to glow. Megatron's arms tightened with sudden fierceness around Optimus, and Optimus answered him in kind. "This, my Brother," said the Prime, "is how I really feel about you."

Megatron's intakes hitched. But ever the fighter, he pressed in and responded with an infodump of his own: all the things he'd kept in for so long, and probably would never say out loud to anyone.

For a very long time, they just stood there. Megatron was perhaps a little heavier, a little wider in the shoulders; and maybe Prime had the quicker reflexes, the faster processing speed. But for height, for strength, for stamina, they were evenly matched. And so it was not until several breems had passed that Megatron let slip one single word from between tight-clenched teeth: "Please."

"All right," said Prime, pleased that he'd won this round, and gratefully allowed his trembling knees to buckle. With a contentment he'd not known in all their years of warfare, Optimus Prime let Megatron's collapsing weight to bear him to the ground. "You win," he said. And smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that this ending reads as a whole lot porn-ier than I'd intended... 
> 
> All I meant was that, just like Prime and Elita get all tired out if they let their sparks almost touch, Megs and Prime would get pretty drained by a complete core hook-up like this, and of course they'd use it as an excuse to see who could remain standing the longest...

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Postscript:
> 
> For those of you wondering what's up with those neck-cables, here's my thought process:
> 
> I can't imagine that after this long, Prime and Elita wouldn't have come up with a few ways of Having A Really Good Time together. But since only about 1 in 100 mechs in my universe are ever spark-bonded, and since most of those bonds (the ones left after the war, anyway) are either fraternal bonds like Prime and Megs's, or bonds of support like Inferno and Red's (or like Starscream and Halfback would have had), a conjugal bond like Chromide or Prime and Elita is extraordinarily rare. Each pair has to do their own experiments with Creative Rewiring.
> 
> But now Megs has vicariously experienced the kind of Fun that Elita and Op's get up to on occasion, since he's in a sense 'been' Prime during their bond. He remembers. He wants it now; he can't help it. And he knows all Prime's sweet spots.
> 
> I just can't imagine why they'd have anything like the 'interface ports' usually written about in fanfiction. Yes, they have ports, all over. But they're nothing more than data-exchange facilities. The only place I can think of where someone might be able to manually tweak things for That Kind of Fun would be what I imagine as a fiber optic bundle of what amounts to 'nerves' running from the cortex in their head, down through their neck to their spark, and from thence in thinner strands throughout their bodies. If you could get at those nerves, you might be able to stimulate them in Fun Ways. But transformers are heavily built and armored. So if you don't want to flat-out remove parts of their armor, the neck seems like the easiest place to get at That Stuff. But it'd be buried deep in there, under the surface motor cables...
> 
> And now you know.


End file.
